Scoundrel's Honor
by Visible Monsters
Summary: Reflections from our favorite scoundrel. Companion to my story, "Exile's Word."
1. People Like You

Oh, I know about Force bonds, Angel.

You know, the basics.

How to manipulate them, how to use them to weaken people like you.

People like who you used to be, anyway.

_Whatever._

I just pretend not to, for your sake.

If you pretend you don't know anything, everyone calls you a fool and leaves you alone.

The fools are the ones you should be wary of, take it from me.

Scoundrel's honor.

But back to Force bonds:

It's the easiest way to kill a master, you know.

Off their little apprentices, break the connection - it's easy, if you know what you're doing.

Alright, so maybe this insider information isn't so basic.

But anyway, sure, I know about bonds.

Fool that I am, even I know how unusual it is for a Jedi to make as many as you do.

How unusual for them to be as strong as yours are.

You almost made me feel special for a moment there, Sweetheart.

Everyone we picked up after Telos?

Just admit it; you collect us like stray gizka.

Even now, I feel you near me, when we're a whole moon apart.

Me on my back under the pilot console, making repairs as slowly as possible, I can feel your presence as if you're here and wondering how long it will take to get us space-worthy again.

Thanks to that faint and already corrupted thread that's bonded us since Peragus and still makes me sick.

I'm not even jealous about all those private meditation sessions with Blondie.

Me? Jealous?

Of the kid?

In your dreams, Princess.

Don't get me wrong, I don't have any delusions about us.

Not besides the ones vulgar enough to keep the witch out of my mind for days at a time, anyway.

I might be a fool, but I'm not stupid.

I can't invade people's minds like you and that hag can, but I know my place.

You and me?

Even I'm smart enough to know how _that_ would turn out.

Maybe it's fate.

Or the Force, as people like you would say.

People like who you used to be.

_Whatever._

Fate is not a pretty master.

People like you can't take people like me seriously, Force bond or not.


	2. Angel

I'd honestly thought you were an angel.

I mean, yeah, it was just one of my lines, but give me a break; I'd been stuck in a containment cell for days. I hadn't eaten or slept for longer.

Some woman in her underwear shows up in an abandoned mining colony, what would you think?

I know better now.

You may have an saint's face, but you have a sinner's past.

Not that I would propose to know anything about that, sweetheart.

No, I'm just the pilot.

Atton Rand, at your service.

I'm also good at running and drinking, princess. Pazaak, lying, shooting things, i.e. - all the important things in life.

I'll admit, for someone who can usually feel when a bad thing's coming my way, I wasn't expecting this. Not to be dragged along for the ride by some angel-face ex-Jedi and blackmailed by her old hag of a shadow.

I figured I'd hang around until you were on your way to wherever it was you were going, and maybe I'd get a good night out of you for my help.

You can blame that on your first impression, sweetness.

But here I am.

"Where to next, angel?" I ask, casually turning to get a glimpse of your profile as you check the navigation charts behind me. You get that line in your forehead and your lips purse at the nickname.

I smirk and you give me a brief sideways glare in response.

Your young-looking face, those big hazel eyes, that rush of pink to your cheeks, I can't help calling you that.

You can't even tell the things you've been through by looking at your face.

Except for your eyes.

Your coppery stare carries the weight of your past, I can tell just by the way your smiles never quite reach your eyes.

Then there's the way you gaze off when you think no one is paying attention, as if you're stuck somewhere else.

- not that I would claim to know anything about carrying the burden of the past on your shoulders.

I know you're not more than a few years younger than I am, but you make me feel fracking old sometimes.

If age were measured in experience, you and I would be too old for things like this ten times over.

"Set a course for Onderon," you finally reply, through still-pursed lips. "Make sure we're ready for a quick jump to Nar Shaddaa, just in case. I've got a bad feeling about Onderon, and we're headed for Nar Shaddaa straight after, anyway."

"Right." A small knot of dread forms in my stomach at your answer, despite how much I've been pushing for a trip to the smuggler's moon.

A place like that is no place you belong.

"Problem, Atton?" you ask, your tone all business. You're in one of _those_ moods today. I guess you're not so thrilled about seeing another one of those Masters of yours.

"No problems here, beautiful," I reply absently. I hazard a glance just in time to see your pretty scowl aimed in my direction. Your hands are clasped behind your back and you're standing perfectly straight and still.

I never knew someone could carry so much on their shoulders and still have better posture than I do.

"I do have a name, you know," you retort. "I'm sure it wouldn't kill you to start using it."

"Oh, yeah. Exile. Jedi. Angel," I wave a hand in the air.

"Right. And yours is "fool," you retort through clenched teeth.

You stomp off back toward the main hold.

And what do you know about me anyway, gorgeous?

Maybe it _would_ kill me to use your name.

That's what it starts with, you know.

Tell someone your name, and they take it as an invitation to dig up your past.

Frack, Atton isn't even my real name.

Have you figured that out by now, Ari?

Is that even **your** real name, angel?

Don't tell me. I don't want to know.

So you're just "exile."

Or "sweetheart" or "beautiful" or "gorgeous."

Take your pick, angel.

Because that's all I can allow you to be to me.


	3. Liar

**Thank you to Jocasta Silver & Voldy's pink teddy for the reviews. : ) **

**Two more things: the timeline of these chapters skips around. A lot. Just an F.Y.I. Second, I have a companion story to this called "Exile's Word," for those of you interested in the other side of the story.**

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

You're a liar.

Maybe the best liar I've ever met, because the only lies you tell are the ones strictly about yourself.

It takes one to know one, angel.

Frack, just listen to me- I'm talking as if you don't know that already.

Once I've mostly healed myself up [with no help from the kid, thank you very much] and Bao-Dur and the tin can are piloting, I casually wander the ship, pretending like I don't know you've holed yourself up in the witch's room ever since we left Dantooine.

If someone asked me if I were looking for you, I'd lie to their face.

Blondie's already at your door when I get there and a heat runs through my veins at the sight of him.

"What are you doing?" I demand, narrowing my eyes at him. He almost jumps at my voice, and I refrain from smirking. His pale blue eyes meet mine hesitantly.

It makes me wonder how he'd act if he only knew my past, like you do.

It's been years, but taking a Jedi like him down would barely be a warmup.

"Atton. I...thought she could use some company, she seemed-" he begins, turning away from the door.

"If she does, I think she'd be interested in more colorful company than yours, blondie," I snap at him, before he can get much more than a complete sentence out.

You don't need any of us, not really. At least, not like we need you.

The kid backs off and I turn back to the door.

I wait till I hear his footsteps back near the medbay, then rap my knuckles against the metal door.

"Ari?" I call, knocking again. "I'm coming in."

I pick open the lock [pure pazaak] and see that your back is to me when the door slides open.

It's unnerving.

You scare me, and that is the 100% fracking truth.

I lock the door behind myself.

"You alright, angel?" I ask uncertainly.

You only turn around when I'm a few steps away.

"Why do you follow me?" you ask abruptly, and it terrifies me. I've been expecting this question for months and still haven't come up with a lie good enough to even convince myself.

And I call myself a deserter- although, I doubt you're interested in the irony of it all, sweetheart.

"What do you mean?" I ask dumbly. My mind frantically begins playing pazaak. Counting the blips in the engine sequencers. Picturing you in that dancer getup back on Nar Shaddaa...

Old habits die har- well, actually, they just don't die.

You give me that look and I drop the mental defenses fast, feeling guilty.

"Stop pretending to be a fool and give me a straight answer for once," you state flatly, your hazel almond eyes piercing me. They're lighter today, more of a honey color, rather than copper. You start to pace, breaking eye contact and biting your lip. "Why do you all follow me, why do you do what I ask? Why...why do you kill who I kill? Why are you still here, when you obviously don't want to be?"

I balk as the questions flood out of you.

This isn't the calm, collected you I'm used to.

"Do you do it because you want to… or have to? What is making you stay with me? All of you, I mean." Your eyes shine as the words continue to tumble out of your mouth. You pause to look at me again, frustrated. "Do you understand what I'm asking?"

"If you want the truth, you're asking the wrong person, angel," I try to laugh, but I can only sigh instead.

The truth is, I have this ridiculous urge to be in the same room as you, to stand between you and anything or anyone that wants you dead.

The truth is, I don't understand it myself.

If I were someone else, or maybe if you were someone else, I could tell you this. Maybe.

But you're you, and I'm just a son-of-a-schutta, lying, gutter-scum flyboy with quick lips and a closed heart. I'm just me.

The truth is, I just need you to need me, so that maybe I can start to atone for my past for someone who matters. For you.

"Just...say _something_ of actual substance for once," you say, shaking your head. "Lie to me, if you have to." You laugh humorlessly, before you add, "And Force, please make it convincing this time, Atton."

I want to laugh.

You don't know the half of it, sweetheart. Or maybe you do.

I take a step back, but you take two forward, your hand reaching out to grip my wrist. Two seconds and I could have you pinned against the wall so fast even your Jedi training would have you do a double-take.

No lie.

"Lie to me. Please," the look in your stormy hazel eyes is urgent and your grip on my wrist tightens slightly. "I just...I need a reason."

Lie to you?

Where do I even begin?

It's like you've just asked me to breathe.

You want a lie, princess? I'll give you the biggest one I can think of. Here it is, Ari:

"I love you," I blurt out. Is that what you want to hear, princess? Your eyes search mine, and I can't look away.

Eye contact is essential to lying.

The trick to lying is to delude yourself into thinking what you're saying is true, no matter how ridiculous. Tell yourself a lie enough times, and you can force yourself into believing it.

Your grip on my wrist loosens and the look in your eyes is impossible for me to decipher.

You take a step too close and in a matter of seconds your lips are pressed up against mine.

I'm surprised to find _how...right_ it feels.

Honest.

If I were another person, I'd call your bluff. Why would you want this? With me, of all people? By now you know all of it. Who I've been, what I've done... If I were anyone but me, I'd have sense enough to walk away.

But me, I open my mouth to mesh with yours.

The moan you let out sends tremors all the way down to my toes.

Your hands clutch desperately at the front of my jacket and I reciprocate by pressing you up against the wall.

Your angel face is pink and you're panting when we eventually pull away.

This is what I've wanted all along, isn't it, sweetheart?

My hands skim down the curve of your waist but you don't shove me away like I fully expect you to.

"I love you," I try out the foreign words again before you can come to your senses like you should. The words sound strange on my lips and odd to my ears. I press them to your hair as I slide your robe off your shoulders. I drop my gloves and slip out of my jacket.

When we kiss again, it's not as frantic, and suddenly, I'm not thinking of ways to keep you out. Suddenly, everything outside this room doesn't matter so much anymore.

Your eyes close as I run my rough palms and calloused fingers over your exposed skin. You shudder and I shrug off my shirt before kissing you again. I feel your small hands running through my hair and down my back.

This game is nice and all, gorgeous, but I want your skin on mine.

My nerves are on fire as your tongue twists with mine and your hand travels down my chest towards my pants.

- so maybe you're not exactly the angel I imagined.

That's fine. Better, even.

I help you slide out of your tunic and leggings so I can find out for myself, and it's not long before we're horizontal on one of the bunks.

I don't want for it to be over when it finally is.

After, I drop my face down to your neck, kissing and leaving my marks on you, content to hear the pleasant sighs leaving your lips. I feel your pulse and your body relaxing under mine while we wait for our breathing to return to normal. One of your hands runs lightly through my sweaty hair and the other dances across my bare skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I keep one of my arms wrapped securely around your waist.

"I love you," I mumble against your neck. I raise my head to give you another heavy kiss. You smile, running your fingertips across my jawline.

"I'm fine; you can stop lying," you say. We lie comfortably for a few more seconds before you slowly wriggle out of the bunk.

I watch as you redress yourself calmly. I'm still not convinced this isn't all in my mind.

"When we get to Telos..." You pause to straighten your tunic and look at me over your shoulder. "I'll need you...your help." Your hands are steady, but your eyes betray you, like always.

"Ari..." I start.

"I'm fine, Atton," you interrupt sharply. I frown. Your tone softens. "Thank you. But I'm fine."

You leave, and I watch the way your hips sway as you walk out.

For the first time, I'm not the one walking away from a bed first, and that's no lie.

The truth is, you're the only one lying now.

Scoundrel's honor.


	4. Irony

**[A/N: thank you to Jocasta Silver, Serious Subway Flirting, and Sharaen for the reviews and also those of you who follow/favorited :)] **

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"I simply admire her," blondie says. Yeah, I've seen the way he 'admires' you. I give a noncommittal grunt in response. He follows me out of the cockpit, and I wish everyone would just stick to their own part of the fracking ship. It's small enough without the kid invading my space, asking if I need help with some inane task or another. "Surely you've noticed-"

"Yeah, and I noticed first, get it?" I turn to scowl at him when we reach the medbay. He falters a little under my glare then sighs, his mouth twisting slightly in discomfort.

"Atton. I don't think you understand what I'm-"

"Oh, I understand, kid. Here's the thing. She likes honest guys, real ones," I say, and you'd laugh at the irony if you were there to hear me. "Not guys who want to play the big noble hero," I finish, regardless.

I hear a suppressed chuckle echo from the engine room as I storm away, leaving pretty boy where I wish he would stay.

"What, you think someone like her would never go for me?" I demand of Bao-Dur as I enter the room. He pauses to look at me, unfazed by my mood.

"I think I'm getting back to work."

"Hey! I'm being serious," I insist, leaning in the doorway. "Besides, you...knew her before, right?" I ask Bao-Dur.

"To an extent," he replies shortly, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. It's hard to get a story out of him as it is to get one out of you or me. The war will do that to you, I guess. He catches the look I give him and continues. "She was a general, Atton. I knew her, but she hardly had enough time to be eating rations with the mechs," he explains in that slow, calming way he has.

"But you've still known her longer than any of us," I point out stubbornly.

"If you say so," he replies, agreeably enough.

"Okay, what does _that_ mean?" I scratch at my neck in annoyance.

"I don't think any of us back then really **knew** the General, Atton." He finally looks up from the workbench, pausing his work on his remote. He rubs at his cheek with the back of his hand, leaving a light smudge of grease across his tattooed skin, looking thoughtful. "She was- wait, why are you asking, anyway?"

"I..." I pause, realizing that I don't have a sarcastic comment or lie ready. I must be losing my touch.

"Yes?"

"Okay, but... don't laugh. I was wondering what you thought the chances were of me and her...well, you know..." I trail off.

He looks up again, but I can't read his expression.

"You're serious?" he asks, and I hear that hint of amusement betraying his normally calm demeanor. "You're serious."

"I said not to laugh!" I complain.

"I'm not laughing. Your guess is as good as mine, Atton," he shrugs unhelpfully. I frown.

"I'm just saying, you know, with the whole Jedi thing- but she's not a real Jedi anymore. Not that I know anything about Jedi... Do you know what I'm saying?"

"I think so," he answers slowly. "You're saying you have feelings for the General."

I look at the ceiling in exasperation.

"Frack, don't say something like that so loud! It's not even true," I lie, scowling at him. "What, a guy can't ask whether he has a chance of hooking up a power coupling?" I continue, annoyed. "And you don't have to call her "the General" all the time. It's kind of creepy." He looks at me thoughtfully.

"You rarely call her by her name. To her face, I mean." He has a point, but like hell I'd admit it.

"Yeah, well...that's..." He gazes at me expectantly, crossing his arms and waiting for me to continue. "That's different," I scowl.

"If you say so," Bao-Dur replies.

"You're mocking me," I narrow my eyes at him.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Dwooo. Beep-boop, dwooooo," the droid whirs into the doorway and conveniently settles itself just out of my foot's kicking range.

Stupid walking tin can.

Like a beeping trash compacter is one to decide who's good enough for you.

"What's that bucket of bolts saying now?" I grouse, pretending like I don't understand. The ghost of a smile plays about the zabrak's lips.

"He says the General might be in need of a memory wipe," Bao-Dur translates. "If she were to consider doing anything you were to suggest."

"Hilarious," I respond dryly. I haven't the slightest idea why you haven't let me space that useless heap of scrap metal. "We'll see how funny you are when I-"

"Hello, General," Bao-Dur interrupts, looking past me and into the hall of the loading ramp.

"Nice try," I roll my eyes at him.

"Hello, Atton," you say. I slowly turn to see you standing behind me, Visas and the hag at your side. Visas immediately heads in the opposite direction to the dormitory, and I wish the kid would take some lessons from her on not being a nuisance.

"Angel," I reply, nodding at you with a grin. If the nicknames are getting on your nerves today, I can't read the annoyance on your face.

"Beep. Boop-beep. Dwooo."

"You have an audio recording to show me?" you repeat, your tone betraying a fond amusement for the obnoxiously overactive robot.

"Fracking boot-licker," I grumble, aiming a kick in his general direction. It beeps in dismay, scurrying away. "See, this is why I hate droids. That one's so far broken in the head, I don't think anyone can fix it. Don't listen to anything he shows you."

"A bit...defensive, Atton?" you tease, but your delivery falls flat as you walk away.

Frack, angel. You might as well be a droid. With a good body, at any rate. Maybe I could convince you to start announcing your tone at the beginning of sentences like those homicidal silver droids we keep coming across.

The old witch stays put for a few seconds, glaring as best she can without actually looking at me. I side step her and walk back to the cockpit.

I'm only a little surprised to find you there.

But I don't show it and drop into the pilot's seat.

"Hey, you don't really trust blondie back there, do you?" I ask, as you study the navigation charts.

"I trust him about as much as I trust you," you respond, still absorbed in your task.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I turn to look at you over the chair.

"Nothing," your eyebrows furrow just slightly when we make eye contact. "What's the problem?"

"He's a spy, you know. For the Republic," I point out, annoyed.

"I know."

"What? You know?" You look at me but don't say anything for a few moments.

"What difference does it make to you?" you demand, fully abandoning the console to frown at me.

"I just don't like people who aren't who they say they are," I grouse, and yeah, yeah, the irony. Whatever.

You raise your eyebrows in a patronizing way, suggesting that my statement applies to everyone in this room.

"Well, that covers just about everyone in the whole fracking universe," you roll your eyes at me.

"You know what I mean." You study me for a long while, your arms crossing over your chest.

"No. I don't," you argue stubbornly. I just shake my head and settle back into my chair.

You do know, even if you won't admit it.

But that's how it is.

I lie to you, and you lie to yourself.


	5. The Truth

**[A/N: This is the 2nd chapter posted today, just an f.y.i. in case you missed it.] **

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

I've long prided myself on my talent of reading people, but you're the only one who has ever managed to elude me this long.

If I cared enough to try, I'm sure I could read practically everyone else on this ship, [not counting the vicious old scow], but I've never been able to figure out exactly what goes through your mind for the life of me.

Aside from a small smile here, there, or the few times I've actually managed to make you laugh, I mean. Sometimes, I start to understand when you bite your lip or I drag out a light blush across your cheeks. Other than that, the only emotions I seem to inspire in you are anger and frustration.

When I say something, I don't know if you think I'm a fool or if I'm anything at all.

I suspect it's an after-effect from your Jedi [or maybe exile] days.

So when I finally tell you the truth, [the actual truth, not one of my usual half-truths] about me being a deserter, about me learning I'm Force-sensitive, the reality is that I wait in agony for your reaction. But your expression doesn't change when I recount the nightmare that leaves me awake some nights. Those dreams where I'm Him again.

I leave out the fact that sometimes, in my dreams, you turn into Her. I leave out how terrified I get thinking that the witch can make me want to hurt you, and worse, make me enjoy it. That she can make Jaq do what He does to you in my dreams. I don't say how in the dreams, His fingers around Her throat change into my fingers around yours.

I expect you to finally show some sort of emotion: anger, fear, disappointment. I want you to flinch away in disgust, slap me, maybe finally ask me to leave. After all I've done, it's what I deserve.

It's almost worse that you don't do any of these things.

So we sit in silence for an incredible amount of time, to the point where you just chew on your lip and I fidget uncomfortably.

I study you with a hollow gaze.

If you're surprised, even your big angel eyes don't show it. Your eyes my go-to when I can't tell what you're thinking, that or the annoying way you chew on your lip sometimes, but this time, they remain perfectly neutral. Instead, you study me for a few more silent moments.

"You're telling an ex-Jedi you've killed Jedi. Why?" you ask, with that perfectly even tone of yours.

"You asked," I point out, shrugging stiffly, and knowing that answer doesn't satisfy you. "And because you've killed people too. I know it's not under the same circumstances, but your body count is higher than mine ever was. We haven't known each other long, but I know you've got history, and anyone who signs on with you doesn't. Maybe I need someone to know mine, in case a story needs to be set straight. In case I haven't got much time left. Do you understand?"

"I'm not sure," you admit, peering at me with those wide, honey-hazel eyes of yours. "Why are you trying to protect me?"

"I'm not sure," I reply, with an ironic grimace, wishing I didn't thrive on my own lies so much.

And that's the other truth of lying, angel. You start to live for half-truths, for the withheld wisps of honesty that might not even exist if you look too close or pay too much attention. Most of the time, what you're looking for doesn't even exist.

"Atton, I…need time to think," is all you say, standing up slowly. I watch you walk away. I don't stop you. I'm not delusional enough to think I can save myself with my mouth this time.

"Take all the time you need. I still am," I mutter, half to myself as I pull out my pazaak deck.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

It's days later, after we've left Nar Shaddaa for a pit stop on Dantooine, when you approach me again. I've been restless, and I'm unsure if it's because I've finally told you the truth or because you haven't asked me to accompany you off the ship since then.

"You up for a game?" you ask as you calmly approach me in the cockpit, and I'm so surprised that I'd do almost anything you asked.

"Sure, sweethe- ah...Ari."

"Not here, though. Let's find some privacy. It's so nice outside," you add, nodding towards the doorway. I follow, as always.

"I've thought about what you've said," you say, after a long, silent walk past Khoonda. You decide on a spot shaded by a tree, close enough to the water that we can hear the small waves lapping against the rocks. Your tone doesn't make you sound angry. It doesn't sound as if you're anything. My nerves start to crawl underneath my skin as a result. "I was wondering...what happened after?"

I don't answer until you start to shuffle your deck and I pull mine out of my pocket.

"I wandered for a while, pretending to be a refugee. I just wanted to be left alone, honestly. And yeah, I smuggled for awhile. Not many other options, when you're a half-trained ex-Republic pilot and a fully-trained killer," I inform you. "And then I met you, and now...everything is different. I didn't want to tell you, before." I rub the back of my neck. "But you should know why. In case something happens to me... I can't let you think I was doing it for any other reasons than what I've said. But now, I…it's not just that anymore. If I can use what She showed me to help protect you, then maybe... I mean-" I fumble clumsily for words.

Fumbling like an ignorant fool and not the suave scoundrel I know I can be.

"Atton, I…" you trail off and I don't know what you're thinking. "I can train you to use the Force, if that's what you're asking."

It is what I'm getting at, but at the same time, it's the last thing I expect to hear from your mouth. I give you a twisted smile.

"You're serious, aren't you?" I ask, hoping there's a punchline. "I'd make an awful Jedi, Ari, and you know it."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," you reply stubbornly, staring me down with those eyes as golden as a sunrise.

"I told you what I've done. This would be a disaster. You don't even know who I am. _I_ don't even know who I am anymore. How are you so sure I've changed?"

You abruptly reach over to take my broad hands in your smaller, calloused ones.

If you were anybody else, I'd pull away on instinct.

But it's you, your hands are warm, and I don't deserve the way you put up with all the bantha shit I put you through. With me.

You don't answer and I watch you while you study our clasped hands. I observe the glint in your eyes as you blink. You're quiet for so long, I wonder if you've forgotten I'm here.

"Meetra," you abruptly say.

"What?" I frown, confused. You look up at me, your head tilted at a thoughtful angle.

"Meetra. Who I used to be. Jedi Knight Meetra Surik," you inform me with a harsh grimace. "Not anymore. Meetra was the General, and that was a lifetime ago. I'm...just me. Ari Endac, the Force-crippled exile," you laugh bitterly.

"I..." I start, the words sticking in my throat. I look down at our intertwined hands. "I used to be Jaq," I admit quickly, before a lie or half-truth leaves my mouth instead. Jaq the Murderer. Jaq the Torturer. Breaker of Jedi. That name leaves an unpleasant taste in my mouth and the thought of being Him again- the thought of the witch making me like that again makes my heart twist with shame.

"Jaq," you repeat, trying it on your palate. I feel your heavy gaze on me and look back at you, as much as I'd like to stare at the sky or study our hands. I don't like how my old name sounds on your tongue. I hate the way that syllable shapes your mouth, pulls at your lips. "You're not Jaq anymore, as much as I'm not Meetra."

"How do you know?" I ask, finally meeting your eyes. Your smile is small, helpless.

"I don't. I just know you're more than whoever that person was. You have so much potential, even if you like to pretend you don't. You...you're **good,** Atton." The way you say my name makes my heart clench.

"I didn't know you thought of me like that," I reply, taking back one of my hands from your grasp to rub at the beck of my neck awkwardly. You smile. "There's a lot of things you don't know about me." Some maybe you never will.

"I don't know a lot about Jaq," you correct, waving him away with your words. "But I'd like to know more about Atton."

I guess I never differentiated between the two so drastically, but in one sense, you're right. I haven't truly been Jaq since _Her_, and that part of my life ended almost a decade ago. Not to say some of the old impulses don't flicker into my mind every so often or that the old habits are gone, but the thought of being _Him_ again makes me sick to my stomach, and that has to count for something, doesn't it?

"I felt the Force once, I...heard it, when she showed it to me," I remind you. "I was afraid of it, because I knew it would change me into something else. But I see you and it makes me...I'm not scared anymore. And...I want you to teach me how to use the Force so I can protect you."

"Then I will train you," you say, simply. I blink, confused. That's it?

"Is there some ritual? Or-"

"Just close your eyes," you command, releasing my hands. "And open your mind."

Your gaze challenges me with how intense it is, and I just want to kiss you. I want your hands in my hair, I want my arms crushing you to me, I just want you all to myself.

But most of all, I want to hear you say my name in every single different inflection there is. I don't care if it's a gasp of pleasure or a snap of anger; I just want the reassurance that I'm me and not **Him **anymore. I want a reassurance that Jaq is gone. I don't want Him to haunt me anymore.

I don't want to close my eyes. I want to remember the fire in your coppery hazel eyes, I want to commit the breeze-blown loose strands of your dark hair and your pink, partially open lips to memory.

Instead, I do as you say and shut my eyes, thinking of the way you bite your lip when you're uncertain or when I say something to upset you.

"And no counting cards, or picturing me in my underwear," you sternly add. I allow myself to smirk guiltily.

"Can I picture you in... _other_ things?" I quip.

"No," you retort firmly, but I hear the way you can't keep the smile out of your voice for once.

You say things, and I listen, if only to hear the sound of your voice.

"Feel it around you, embrace it."

I start to feel your presence in a hypersensitive way, as if your being is all around me, folding over my consciousness.

And not only yours, but others, mingling in the background, all connecting back to me through you.

"Remember how you felt when you said you wanted to protect me, and think of all the times you already have: Peragus, Telos..."

I feel as if I should be concentrating on all the life ebbing and flowing around me, but I'm only interested in yours right in front of me.

I become startlingly aware of the bond between us, threading us together and feeling more powerful than I've ever felt it before.

_At last, Atton... Awaken._

The sound of your voice in my head startles me and almost jolts me into a blind panic. I feel my limbs tense, the urge to throw all my mental walls back up, but your hands close around mine again and I try to relax. My heart starts to beat twice as fast, but I don't let myself regress, despite how much this is for me to take in all at once.

I feel the way I felt when She showed me what I was capable of - why I was worth saving, only with you, it's ten times as overwhelming. I feel an abrupt surge of love- the kind where my lungs constrict and my chest hurts, full of the knowledge that I'd do anything for you.

And I mean **anything,** Ari.

I hold on to that feeling for a few more seconds before you recede out of my mind as if on tiptoes.

When I open my eyes, the atmosphere seems different somehow. Maybe a hint brighter, but maybe that's just your smile reaching your eyes as you gaze at me. My heart is pounding in my ears, and I find myself out of breath.

Admittedly, I don't feel much different on the inside. I'm still just me. Sarcastic, suspicious, lying, crack-pilot Atton Rand.

But at the very least, I'm not Jaq. I know I don't need Him in the back of my mind anymore. Not if you're there to replace Him.

Acceptance. It's not something I'm used to. It'll take me awhile to greet it with familiarity.

For the first time, I start believing that you're the one She saved me for, and that's the truth.

Part of me has known it since you walked into my life on Peragus, but I didn't really believe it until now.

And now you know it, too.


	6. Dark

[A/N: This chapter matches up with and makes more sense if you read chapter 4 of "Exile's Word." Thanks again to SeriousSubwayFlirting for the reviews!]

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"Wait here," you casually command, as if you go off to explore ruins dripping with the dark side of the Force by yourself every day.

"I don't think that's a good idea," blondie interjects, and I instinctively roll my eyes. It's just like him to get his robes in a bunch over anything relating to you.

Not that I'm crazy about the idea, either.

"It's not," you agree, your eyes regarding us thoughtfully. "But I have to go alone. Can't you feel it?" you ask, your pretty hazel pools flickering over to meet mine.

Yeah, I feel it, as much as I'm trying to block it out. Those tendrils seductively trying to wind their way into my mind. I clench my teeth.

I hold your stare. At the same time, I allow the irritating feeling to wash over me.

It's overwhelming at first, and my initial instinct is to block it out again.

My knees start to shake and my stomach turns from the severity of it.

I manage to stay upright and slowly adjust to its weight.

This isn't the same as when She woke the Force in me or when you revived it not so long ago, either. The atmosphere of this place is thick, humid like the jungles back in the war. Dark.

I look over to see that the kid looks a little pale and shaken, but he seems to be handling it better than I am all the same. I shoot him a glare.

"I'm going in alone," you repeat. "If I'm not back in a few hours, don't wait for me." You don't bother to wait for a response before you start towards the entrance.

"Ari," I stop you, grabbing your arm.

You pause to look at me expectantly, and I forget what I was going to say.

"Just...be careful," I state, swallowing before I let go. Not that I care, or anything, is what I mean to add to that sentence. "Angel."

"I always am," you deadpan. The corner of your mouth quirks with the barest hint of a smirk. I shake my head and you disappear through the strange fog. All you Jedi are fracking crazy.

I head back over to the kid and lean against the wall of the cave.

Now that you're gone, the itching, dark feeling in the back of my mind is harder to ignore.

"We should be in there with her," he states, after all of five minutes of silence. I shoot him a scowling glance.

"You'd only get in the way," I scoff. He gives me a brooding look before sitting on a rock.

"Atton, I believe there's been much miscommunication between us regarding the exile," he frowns, his eyebrows furrowing. I roll my eyes. He can't even call you by your name; that's how deep this idiot's in love with you. Or with whoever he thinks you are, anyway.

Between blondie and the dark Force emanating from the cave, I'm getting a migraine.

"Miscommunication? No, I know exactly what's going on in your wanna-be-Jedi mind. Thought people like you were supposed to be above all that," I reply with boredom, unsheathing my dagger and using it to scrape the dirt from under my fingernails.

"The way I see her-"

"Yeah, I don't think you've _seen_ her in the same ways I have," I raise an eyebrow with implication. He shifts under my gaze uncomfortably, eyes wary as he averts his gaze.

I smirk.

This is too easy.

"Perhaps I should explain," he continues, not getting the hint. "I see relationships with others in a different light. Not as possessive or carnal." I snort.

"Nice line. Bet the girls love it. Would you mind if I tried it out sometime?"

"Relationships are something shared between two people and give both strength, whether through struggle or affection," he drones on, attempting to make eye contact that I won't give him. "I admire her. Perhaps even feel something for her. Can we at least agree that it is difficult to be around her and not have such feelings?"

"Well... yeah, okay," I allow, sliding my dagger back into its sheath.

"Good," he replies, finally shutting up.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"I think we should stay."

"She said to go back to the 'Hawk if she wasn't back in time," I argue. "She's a big girl. With a lightsaber. I think she'll be fine," I retort coolly.

"I'm not leaving her," blondie stubbornly insists.

"Fine. You take first watch while I get some sleep." Like he could protect _you. _But if he's staying, I'm staying.

It's not that far into the kid's watch when he wakes me up with a quick shake to my shoulder.

"What?" I snarl in annoyance. He's just interrupted a very pleasant dream I was having about- well, I'm sure you could figure it out, angel.

He wordlessly nods toward the misty cave entrance, where you're approaching us.

I feel strange. Cold. Empty.

Your robes seem darker than before and your strides toward us turn deliberate as you ignite your lightsaber.

And that's when I realize it.

I can't feel you through our bond even though you're walking right towards me.

I instinctively reach for my holster, my faithful blaster.

Not my 'saber. I don't have that habit yet. I don't have it committed to muscle memory.

I'm not sure that I ever truly will.

"Atton, what-" pretty boy gasps, startled at what I'm about to do.

I aim right between the eyes and pull the trigger.

Your doppelganger disappears in a wisp of smoke.

"What...how..." he sputters beside me. I want to laugh but settle for scoffing instead.

See, babe?

He doesn't know you like I do.

I almost feel like a fool for believing I ever had any competition.

"That wasn't her," I inform him, leaning back against a rock. "Wake me up if something exciting happens."

"I..." he sputters, still speechless as I close my eyes.

She didn't have the same spark in her eyes like you get during a fight, like when you're arguing with me.

You never wear black, and your lightsabers are a subtle green for your right hand and that second violet-hued one, not the unique double-bladed silver she carried, though I can't help but think I've seen that one somewhere before.

Anyway, I don't know what the frack just happened, I only know that it wasn't you.

The next time the kid shakes me awake, you're walking toward us. As you draw closer, I can see how tired you are, how small you look under your dirtied robes.

Blondie rushes toward you and I follow casually on his heels.

"I'm fine," you swat us away. You grimace and clutch at your arm, but ignore the kid's attempts to examine you. "I'm fine," you repeat, swaying.

_Liar._

You fall to your knees, but I'm faster than the kid, catching you before you hit the floor.

I scoop you up in my arms, trying not to jostle your head too much after blondie points out the raised welt on your temple.

You don't open your eyes again until we're out of the cave and trudging through the sand back to the 'Hawk.

"Atton," you abruptly say, and I almost trip. You wince at the sudden movement and I pretend not to notice that your lip is torn and swollen. That there's dried blood in your now tangled hair and you have more bruises than you started with.

"Right here, angel," I reply, dropping my voice in what I hope is a soothing fashion. "It's me." I blink in surprise when you reach up to touch my face, trailing your fingers along my jaw. Your eyebrows scrunch as you try to focus on my eyes.

"Good. I didn't want that other guy. Too dark. Too cold," you take back your fingers and close your eyes, expression still pained. "He called me Meetra. She was there, but he didn't know her. Wasn't much fun," you ramble incoherently, pressing your face against the front of my jacket.

"Oh?" I play along, if only to urge you stay conscious. "I bet he's not as ruggedly handsome, either."

"Scoundrel," you grumble.

I'm unsure if I'm imagining the fond undertones, gorgeous, but I smile despite myself.


End file.
